


I Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

by martinkblackwood



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon Compliant, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No beta we die like archival assistants, Self Confidence Issues, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martinkblackwood/pseuds/martinkblackwood
Summary: Morning was Jon’s favorite time of the day.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152





	I Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!!! so uh this is my first published fic ever!!! yay!!! i'm very excited!!!! i hope you guys enjoy this tooth-rotting mess!!

Morning was Jon’s favorite time of the day.

It hadn’t always been, of course; a few years ago, mornings were just filled with grumbles from a newly hired archivist and badly-made coffee from a coffee machine that should’ve been replaced months ago. Mornings used to be coming into a decrepit building and being met with Tim Stoker, making some snide comment about Jon’s necktie being tied on too tight (Jon would never have a necktie on too tight, and Tim knew that for a fact). Mornings used to be sighs of relief after Sasha James distracted Tim with playful banter. And most of all, mornings used to be trying not to roll his eyes at Martin Blackwood, who would nervously knock on Jon’s door every 15 minutes to ask if he wanted another damn cup of blood orange black tea- delicious tea which helped calm down his mind from all the stimulus around him, but still a bother nonetheless. Mornings used to be a chore.

Now, mornings were waking up in a soft bed under fluffy covers (they had to be sheep wool) to the smell of herbal tea being brewed. Mornings were trying to find Elanor the Elephant who got misplaced during the tossing and turning of sleep; Jon could never spend a night without his elephant friend, even after 31 years of having her. Mornings were brushing his teeth with lavender-flavored toothpaste and combing his hair for the first time in what felt like forever. Mornings were waking up to a cup of tea made just for him and a statement without any strings attached placed out. And mornings, Jon’s favorite part, were spent in the warm, soft embrace of the man he loved.

Jon loved waking up to see Martin, always still sleeping; that was okay with him, though. He had spent the short amount of time in the safehouse studying the pattern of freckles on Martin’s face and wondering if one day he’d be able to kiss all of them, admiring the way his eyelashes fluttered as he began to wake up, smiling at his boyfriend’s bashful grin as he realized Jon had been fondly staring at him. Though, Jon wouldn’t ever verbalize those thoughts, lest he subjected himself to endless teasing; “You know, if I would’ve known you’d goggle at me every morning, I would’ve told you I fancied you sooner,” he could imagine Martin saying with a smirk.  
Mornings with Martin were spent in gentle whispers, with soft touches and quiet laughs. And mornings always began with Jon greeting Martin with, “G’morning, handsome,” and Martin responding back with an adorable giggle and a gentle shove to the shoulder. 

Even from the beginning, Jon thought Martin was incredibly attractive. No matter how much he muttered over the disturbance he believed the man to be, he was still in possession of working eyes. Martin was the tallest employee at the Institute, 6’3 to be exact. He was made of soft and round shapes that gave him a welcoming, kind aura. His face was splattered with freckles; Jon would later find out that the rest of him was the same. Martin’s hair formed golden brown curls, never exactly staying in place no matter how hard he tried. He was always well-shaved; though, there were times Jon had seen Martin with some peach-fuzz when he was living at the Institute. Though some aspects of his appearance had changed due to the Lonely (like the few splattered white freckles on his face and the strands of white intertwining with his curls), he was still as attractive as ever. Jon couldn’t truly appreciate Martin’s beauty back then, though, caught up in his own stoicism. Now, in the safety of that cozy Scottish cottage, he made up for wasted time; Jon decided he would let himself enjoy the beauty that was his boyfriend.

Jon had a habit of curling himself up against Martin’s big, soft stomach whenever they would have a movie night, using his lap as a pillow. Martin didn’t mind at all.  
“Hm,” Martin once hummed, smiling down at the Archivist and combing a hand through his dreads. “You know, you’re sort of like a cat.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“The way you curl up, like a little kitten on a windowsill, basking in the sun. It’s cute.” Jon then grumbled something about ‘not being cute,’ but he couldn’t hide his ears turning red. He felt Martin quietly chuckle and smiled. Jon let his head relax into Martin’s soft thighs, soaking in the warmth and comfort that was his boyfriend. He felt his hand, the scarred one from his encounter with Jude Perry, being lifted up and kissed gently.  
“Mm, you’ve decided to go to bed right here, then?” Jon let out a hum and Martin laughed again. As his eyelids got heavier, Jon felt Martin rub soft circles into his back in the way his boyfriend knew would help him soothe into sleep.  
Appreciating Martin became a part of Jon’s daily routine. Though he never could say how much he found Martin attractive (Jon had never been good with words; Martin was the poet in the relationship), he would always try to express it physically. It was his love language; Georgie had taught him all about that while they were together. It had surprised Martin at first, witnessing his once closed-off, cold and prickly boss melt into his affectionate, touch-starved boyfriend. Some kinds of touches would make Jon prickle up still; for example, Martin found that Jon hated his ears being touched. That was okay, though; Martin had been imagining snogging Jon for so long that he could barely breathe when Jon had taken his hand in the Lonely.

Early one morning, while both of them talked in soft voices about everything and nothing, Jon found himself tracing the marks and scars on Martin’s body.  
“And these are from…?”  
“Top surgery, almost 7 years ago.” Jon brushed his thumbs against the faded scars underneath Martin’s pecs. He was resting himself on top of Martin, propping himself up with his elbows. Martin had his hands on Jon’s hips to keep the smaller man steady. “You know, Tim was actually my caretaker after I got out of hospital. Made a big show of it, too.”  
“Really? Tim Stoker making a show out of things? I couldn’t imagine such a thing,” Jon flashed a smile at Martin, who fondly rolled his eyes.  
“He bought a maid outfit just for the occasion. Cat ears and everything.”  
“Good lord.” The Archivist let out a breathy laugh. “That certainly is a… Tim thing to do.” Martin hummed at that.  
“He was quite good at his job. Made me tea, got me takeout from my favorite places, he even got me a cow plush.”  
“Well, I’m quite pleased he took good care of you.” Martin noticed the hint of jealousy in Jon’s voice and giggled. Jon had already moved his hands down to Martin’s hips, thumbs tracing a cluster of stretch marks repetitively. Martin looked down at him like he hung the stars in the sky. The way the sunlight hit Jon through their thin curtains gave him a glow, almost a halo. Martin could feel his heart doing acrobatics in his chest.

“You’re so pretty,” Martin whispered, lifting a hand from Jon’s hip to help tuck some loose strands back behind his boyfriend’s ear. Jon laughed, shaking his head.  
“I’m not sure that’s the proper word to describe me.”  
“Well, what words would you use?” Jon took a moment, furrowing his eyebrows as he focused.  
“Monstrous…. Tired…. Aged.” Jon laughed sadly as he shook his head again. Martin tilted his head slightly, frowning.

Jon had never had that much self-confidence. When he was younger, he was the target of many local kids’ bullying; he’d hear shouts about how frail and tiny he was on a daily basis. It was true, the Archivist was tiny. Only reaching about 5’4 and 43 kilos soaking wet at 31 years old, he would remember a distasteful comparison made by Tim to a teacup chihuahua. Sure, at the beginning of his time at the Magnus Institute, he could’ve considered himself “attractive”, his short dreads and deep brown eyes making Rosie do a double take when he first walked in. But now, years later, his dreads were a swirl of dark brown and silver; his once stern, fierce eyes were tired and sad. His scars, he thought, didn’t make him look rugged like they did with Tim, but sad, like a hurt puppy. He didn’t like how he looked, and that was it. It wasn’t a big deal to him, it was just fact.

Martin, however, seemed concerned.  
“Jon…”  
“I know, I shouldn’t put myself down considering everything I’ve been through,” Jon almost recited, like he’d heard this dozens of times, “but it’s true, Martin. Look at me. I’m a… well, a mess.”  
“Well, if you’re a mess, then you’re a hot mess.” Jon snorted at that. Martin smiled. He loved Jon’s laugh.  
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”  
“Am not!” Martin spoke defiantly, shifting to sit up. Jon still rested on his chest. “In fact, I think you’re gorgeous.” Jon raised an eyebrow.  
“Really? Elaborate on that.”  
“Do you really want me to elaborate, or do you just want to hear me talk about how hot you are?” Jon blushed, hiding his face in Martin’s chest.  
“Shut up.”  
“You’re the one who asked!” Martin spoke in a sing-song voice. “But, really, Jon, I think every part of you is lovely.” Martin moved to hold Jon by his wrists. “I know you always say you want to dye your hair, but the gray makes you look incredibly dashing. And your eyes… I could get lost in them. I know you always say my eyes are like oceans,” Jon felt embarrassed by how cliche his compliments were, “but yours are so deep. They tell a story, the story of you, Jon.” Martin moved one of his hands to rub one of the patches of scars on Jon’s cheek. “You always talk about how ‘ugly and crude’ your scars are,” Jon couldn’t help but laugh at Martin’s impression of him, “but honestly, I think you pull them off better than Tim did. No offense to him.”  
“Now you’re really trying to butter me up.”  
“I’m being honest! Well, I may be a bit biased.” Jon laughed, biting his tongue and letting the gap in his teeth show. “And your smile! How could I forget that? Good lord, Jon, I remember seeing you smile for the first time,” Martin felt himself flush. “I couldn’t get myself to stop blushing for the whole afternoon. You’ve got a spell on me, I swear.”  
“Well, I have a reason to smile more, now.” Jon pressed a kiss onto Martin’s lips, wrapping his arms around his neck. Martin made a muffled noise of happiness, his hands moving to Jon’s waist.  
“I love the way your body fits perfectly with mine,” Martin said after they parted, still holding each other. “I love when you curl up on me, Jon. And I absolutely love it when you try to be the big spoon.” Jon tried to sputter a rebuttal, how ‘just because I’m small doesn’t mean I can’t cuddle my boyfriend!’, but Martin laughed, silencing him with another kiss, which Jon happily accepted.

Martin was the first to part, his thumbs tracing Jon’s hipbone over his pajamas.  
“I can't take my eyes off of you,” he began to sing, smiling, “I know you feel the same way too, yeah-”  
“Are you serenading me with High School Musical?” Jon snickered, moving his hands to cradle Martin’s face.  
“I can't take my eyes off of you. All it took was one look for a dream come true!” Martin sang loud and proud, giggling and making the lyrics almost intelligible. Jon rolled his eyes but smiled, beginning to sing along.  
“Yeah, we got a good thing goin' on.”  
“Oh, right here is right where we belong.” They both fell back on the bed, giggling. Jon rested his head against Martin’s chest, looking up at him. Martin wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist, closing his eyes.  
“Mm, I love you, Jon.”  
“I love you more, Martin.”  
“I love you most.”

Morning was Jon’s favorite time of day.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on insta!!  
> @martinkblackwood  
> @jonthearchivist
> 
> also!! feel free to friend me on discord!!!  
> martin k. blackwood#8206


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